


Fixing It (Somehow)

by wistfulwatcher



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wistfulwatcher/pseuds/wistfulwatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants to ignore him, keep walking. But more than anything she wants to touch him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. through my fists that i made (my dreams run like sand)

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This fic is a very different style from my other Glee stories. The tone of this fic is much heavier and darker than I've written before, and as such it will cast both characters in a not-so-great light (Will moreso just by nature of their relationship). As such, if that thing bothers you, be warned. 
> 
> Written for the glee kink meme prompt:  
> "5 times they did it for comfort, and one time they did it because they love each other. Preferably while she's still in school (for the first 5, at least - I don't care when the last takes place)."

Her fingers play idly with the ivory keys as the tears fall silently down her cheek. Months of effort and sweat and hard work and discipline, and she still let them down. A year later and nothing was different; dirty tricks from Sue, a silver trophy for Aural Intensity, half-promises of something more from a boy that isn’t hers.

(Embarrassment, shame, and loneliness.)

((She knows these words well.))

 No consolation prize this year, no dopey grin to reassure her. Just glares from her peers and blame placed squarely on her shoulders.

(Wanting to get it right doesn’t make it so, and even those who heard the message are unsympathetic.)

She thinks she hears a whisper, but pulls her sweater tighter and plants her feet firmly on the ground.

“Rachel?” A voice is behind her, so soft, and her breath catches.

Unbidden, the tears fall harder, and she doesn’t realize it until the pressure in her chest starts to leave black spots in front of her eyes.

Blinking them away only makes it worse and the cold streaks on her heated cheeks do nothing to make her feel better. She can hear him shifting behind her at her lack of response and she waits for him to leave her.

(Everyone leaves her.)

((She can’t get it right.))

“Rachel?” It’s in her ear now, so soft, so sweet, and the repeated, “Oh, Rachel,” is the last sound before the rushing noise of blocking everything out. That pressure in her chest is moving, traveling to her brain and she can’t help but crave the inevitable peace that will follow the explosion that must be coming.

(What is she becoming?)

It’s there, mounting, an ocean wave about to break the shore. No, she realizes, more tears, and she couldn’t feel more pathetic.

The heat of his arm is unexpected and oh so what she didn’t need. She tries to tell him, refuse his pity, but she can’t speak above the crashing waves.

She’s afraid to look at him, to see the disappointment and anger in his eyes at her foolish grab for fame and spotlight when she clearly wasn’t ready.

(She’s starting to think she’ll never be ready.)

He’s speaking again, soft, sweet, soothing, and she can’t help but look up at him now, as he whispers, “It wasn’t your fault, Rach.”

His arm is snug around her shoulders, but his hand is hanging stiffly, his fingertips just brushing the sleeve of her sweater.

(She thinks if this were Finn he would have brushed her breast.)

((She is disappointed he will not do the same.))

The thumb that wipes away her tears is his, but he is as shocked as she is. When he cups her cheek it is a slow decision, one that she is sure he will apologize for but not regret.

(She would regret but not apologize.)

He is offering her excuses, blaming the judges, Sue, his choreography, but she’s certain he thinks she wasn’t ready.

(She is ready.)

((She wants to prove him wrong.))

“I am ready,” she whispers. His fingers pause in the slow caress of her pink cheek, now dried of the slick streaks marring it.

His brow crinkles in confusion and her hand is on his. She’s pushing into his side, curling into him to test the waters.

He stops making excuses for her and swallows hard.

He’s not pushing her away.

She looks him in the eye and then she is pulling his hand over and is setting it on her breast.

He’s about to pull away, scold her, tell her it’s inappropriate and wrong and he can’t do this.

(He won’t tell her he doesn’t want this, doesn’t want her.)

((She’s certain now.))

She wants him, wants this because he’s sweet and soft and soothing even when their heads butt, and that’s the best offer she’s had so far.

(It may be sad, but she’s learning to take what she gets.)

((She’d never thought she had limits until him.))

It’s destructive for both of them so it’s natural that their lips meet in the middle. For her it’s comfort and recklessness and oblivion and she thinks it might very well be the same for him.

She decides it doesn’t matter his reasons, as long as his tongue keeps doing that thing to hers. She can’t help the thrill that runs up her spine when the hand on her breast relaxes and presses harder into her, holding the weight of her in his hand.

Before she can make a sound of approval his hand is retreating, his arm is leaving her, and the hard warmth of his chest and arm are sliding back on the piano bench.

The lights are off, have been since she entered the room, and she is suddenly terrified that he is getting up to turn them on. The glow from the streetlamps outside is enough, is more than enough, she can see his face, can make out the conflict in his eyes, and there is no need for more light.

(Their arguments take place in this room during the light of day.)

((The light will remind him of all of her flaws, she’s sure.))

So she slides forward, toward him, and there was no need to hurry, because he is turning enough to slide his leg over the bench so he is completely facing her. She matches him, the short skirt of her blue dress sliding higher.

(She wore this dress a year ago.)

(( _To sir with love._ ))

His hands sneak around her waist and he pulls her to him, all the way over onto his lap until there is no space between them. He maintains eye contact, and his eyes look like fire and ice and that contradiction is too much for her to figure out so she puts her hands on his chest and kisses him again.

(She can feel her anger, frustration bubbling up and she wants it out, wants it gone and he is the nearest person.)

((Forget the love.))

This is using, she thinks, and she realizes where her sudden desire to do this, to touch him came from.

His teeth steal across her collarbone and she can feel the hard press of him through his pants.

Well, the desire for him, she’d always known. It’s this urgency, this need, this scratching from inside that is clawing upwards, outwards, marring everything in its path—this is new.

She rolls her hips, her thighs clenching around his as his hands bracket her waist, helping her. Her hair fanning out behind her as she flips her head back, her throat dry from those inner claws, as a strangled cry brushes her tongue.

(She wants to say his name, test it on her tongue like this.)

((She isn’t sure what to call him.))

(((She won’t get it right.)))

Skirt bunched under his fist, her hands in his hair, holding his lips to the swell of her breast. Gasps and sighs and begging for more, begging not to stop, begging not to leave.

The last doesn’t cause him more than a second of pause so she lets him up from her skin so she can reach for his belt.

She expects a hand to stop her, gentle words meant to discourage but not deny her, and that apology from earlier.

She gets fingers in her hair, blue flame eyes, and no hint of regret.

She keeps his gaze. She pulls the leather toward her. The metal clicks and she feels the belt loosen.

He is so hard beneath his jeans and she thinks about resting her hand there a moment, just to feel him.

(Feel the effect she has on him.)

((Feel the power she has.))

Instead she bites her lip and looks at his face, shadowed as it is in the dark choir room. His eyes are open but so is his mouth, and his shoulders are shaking with the effort of holding back, of breathing as hard as he is.

That thrill is back, rushing down her spine to settle low in her belly as she pops the button on his jeans and pulls the zipper. His breath is audible now as she wraps her hand around his cock and squeezes lightly.

His hands are pushing his jeans from his waist. It’s tough but she doesn’t let go of him, just keeps moving her hand.

(She likes to think he approves of her choice.)

((She thinks the vein on his neck means he does.))

It’s sloppy, she knows. She’s inexperienced and unsure, but she wants this so badly she thinks she can make up for her lack of technique with how much she wants this right now.

His hands are sliding up her thighs under that blue dress and she wonders if he recognizes it.

(She wore it they day she hugged him.)

((The day he hugged her back.))

She thinks this memory will make it even more special, even as she remembers the announcement he made hours earlier.

(Glee was no more.)

((Two years culminating in her biggest request.))

(((She still couldn’t get it right.)))

The urgency with which she lets go of him to stand is alarming even to her, but she doesn’t stop, instead reaching beneath her skirt to pull her panties to the ground. They fall to the linoleum by his jeans and she’s back on the bench, climbing back over him.

“Rachel, we—“ and she responds that she’s on the pill. She thinks it wasn’t the issue he was going to raise but it stemmed any other response because she knows he won’t clarify now, like this.

So she unbuttons the front of her dress, exposing the white lace of her bra as his hands hold her dress to her waist. Her movements are halted at his worried expression, but before he can realize he’s about to fuck his student she reaches for his cock and guides him inside her.

The pressure is more than she expected, but she thinks she likes the hurt of it, especially now.

(Especially from him.)

((They have a habit of hurting each other, but she has to admit she always feels better after.))

She’s hovering at a critical point right now; she can feel him straining against her, his muscles taut beneath his skin. She can only just feel him inside her, and she wants more.

(She always wants more.)

She thinks she wants him to be the one to take it the rest of the way, so she puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes, hoping he gets the message.

He does.

She cries out then, waiting for the hurt to finish and the heal to start.

(She notes the two usually overlap when they’re involved.)

((She also notes that he’s been more of the former as of late.))

With a roll of her hips she lets him know he can move, has to move, and he does. It’s greedy and clumsy and uncoordinated, and yet she realizes that it was never really meant to be more than this.

Their bodies are colliding and he’s shut his eyes tight, but she can’t seem to close hers. He’s beautiful like this, and she wants more.

(The wanting will only lead to heartache.)

((She wants it too much.))

The more she wants is his fingers on her clit, she realizes, as his fingers splay across her back, curling into the fabric there, where he’d rested his hand a year ago.

(Everything was coming full circle.)

((Geometry sucked.))

He’s speaking again, telling her to let go, he had her, he was there.

A new wave is building, waiting to break the ocean and she will die if she cries now, like this with him.

The water is bubbling, rolling and ready to break.

A dry sob claws its way out of her throat and she sighs in relief.

(That the pressure was gone.)

((That he wasn’t.))

She closes her eyes to stem the tears and when she opens them he is watching her, the light still streaming from the streetlamp as if nothing had changed.

(Nothing had changed.)

((Really, it hadn’t.))

He offers her a small smile and she offers one back. She swings her leg from his waist and stands up, grimacing at the unexpected feel of  _them_  sliding out of her and down her thigh. She waits for the embarrassment to rush over her but it never comes.

Instead she takes in the man before her and feels soft and sweet and soothed.

A real smile gracing her lips, she reaches down for her panties and, now bashful, hopes the shadow hides her flushed face.

“I’ll see you tomorr—“ It’s the worst thing she could say.

(Worse than calling him Mr. Schue.)

((Worse than calling him Will.))

(((Why couldn’t she get it right?)))


	2. i still will remain (after all this has passed)

No glee means a lot of things:

No friends.

No power.

Nothing to look forward to.

(No glee coach.)

Rachel supposes it makes it better, easier for her and him, since they don’t need to have to pretend it didn’t happen.

(It would have been impossible.)

Still, it’s been four days since her time with her Spanish teacher, and she can’t help but want everything back to normal. In an effort to do this she takes the circuitous route to just about every class, but still can’t manage to run into him.

(She thinks this might be karma for using him.)

((She thinks it might also be karma for losing them glee club.))

(((What had she done?)))

It’s not until her free period that she finally sees him. She wants to sing in the auditorium but Coach Sylvester has banned anyone but Cheerios from the stage. It’s unfair and cruel and salt in the wound, but Rachel can’t seem to bring herself to care.

Instead she’s going to sit outside in the cold not-quite-Spring air and listen to music. She has to stop by her locker and she thinks that saying must be true, because now that she’s stopped putting herself in his path, she’s found him.

He’s in Ms. Pillsbury’s office and they are speaking, but he is in the doorway, blocking the guidance counselor from her view. She tries not to watch them but she is alone in the hallway and decides that no one would pay attention to her anyway, so she gives up all pretense of finding her iPod and watches the back of his head.

His shoulders are tense, his hands are on his hips, and she can tell his knuckles are white from restraint. He finally moves, runs his hands over his head before he shakes it and turns in her direction.

She is immediately back in her locker, still watching her teachers out of her peripheral vision, so she gasps when he opens the door and she catches a glimpse of Ms. Pillsbury’s bookshelves, emptied, and a box full in her arms.

The information is more than she understands she’s sure, there must be more to them than she realized for him to be so upset, so she slams her locker, puts her ear buds in and practically runs down the hallway.

She averts her eyes when she passes his office, not wanting him to know that she’s been thinking about him, about what they did. So when she realizes at the door that she forgot a coat, she almost decides to go without one just to avoid him now that she knows where he is.

Still, the masochistic part of her decides it’s worth the risk, so she walks back down the long, deserted hallway until she’s five feet from his door. She picks up her speed and she is almost past his office.

(Past him.)

((Past what they did.))

She exhales as she brushes past the door, but her heart starts to pound at the familiar, “Rachel? Can I see you for a moment?”

She wants to say no.

She wants to ignore him.

She wants to keep walking.

But more than any of that she wants to be near him, talk to him, touch him again.

So she turns and faces him. She likes what she sees.

(She usually does.)

((Appearances can be deceiving.))

He invites her in and it is nothing more than a teacher checking in with a student, so why can’t she seem to stop noting that his door window is thick frosted glass, or that there is a lock.

(Or that he is looking at her like he wants to devour her.)

She isn’t sure of any of it, so she offers a shy apology before he can berate her.

He doesn’t say a word but instead he is right in front of her, hands on her waist, fingers digging into her flesh as his mouth does what his eyes promised.

She can’t breathe but it doesn’t seem to matter to her right now so she takes an active role, too. She meets him at every point, hands on clothes, under clothes, on flesh. She thinks she likes this new activity between them.

(She doesn’t think she’ll like it when reality sets back in.)

((She doesn’t think she’ll like it when she has to go back to not touching him when she knows how good touching him feels.))

(((What has she done?)))

Her breath is escaping her and she thinks it’s just as well because she still doesn’t know what to call him, so instead she takes the next step and slides her hand into his jeans beneath the waistband.

Her aggression must startle him because he’s about to push her away, apologize and beg her to forgive him.

He does none of that, instead he unzips his jeans so she can actually touch him.

(She’s starting to realize she doesn’t know him like she thought.)

((It bothers her at the same time she thinks it means a light in the distance.))

Their first time together wasn’t sweet romantic love-making she read about it trashy novels, but it wasn’t whatever this is, either. This is a reunion, passion, a parting gift.

(She can’t help but feel it’s something else.)

((Something more.))

His hands are under her skirt, removing her panties as he sets her on his desk. He nudges her knees apart with his hands and he drops his jeans to the ground. She manages to get his shirt open two buttons to reveal part of his hard chest before he is inside her for the second time in less than a week.

It’s somehow more than she ever expected, but also a little frustrating. Once was once, but twice meant something more, even as she could picture Ms. Pillsbury’s small moving box in her arms.

Rachel wants to offer something, tell him she understands, she’s sorry, he can get her back, she wants him to be happy, but most of those would be lies and she’s not sure which ones so she keeps her mouth shut.

(Her best intentions don’t seem to help much.)

((In fact, she has a gap on her transcript that says they do significant damage.))

Instead she presses harsh kisses to his neck and chest as he moves in her. The feeling isn’t as strange as the first time.

(The last time.)

((The only time.))

It feels like a continuation but a new start and she leans back on her arms to arch her back. His lips rest against her breast, through the fabric, but neither of them are willing to stop to disrobe her. Instead he thrusts a few more time and slips a hand between them to rub her clit, his movements jerky and desperate and completely foreign.

The pressure is enough, though, and she presses her lips together to keep her scream from bubbling forth when they both fall over the edge.

He is leaning against her and the weight of him is starting to become too much.

(The thought tastes like foreshadowing on her tongue.)

((She replaces it with his mouth.))

After, he rests his face in her neck. Against her shoulder comes, “Mr. Schue.”

It’s an answer to a week-old question, but it’s also a promise of reparation, of making amends.

(Of normalcy.)

((Of something more.))

(((She’s ready to fix this.)))

She thinks he wants to tell her that this can’t happen again, that this was the last time and she also thinks she wants to beat him to it. But the words taste like a reprimand on her tongue so she offers a small smile.

(Despite it all, she’s learning.)

((She thinks she’s starting to understand why her best intentions fail.))

(((Why her good isn’t good enough.)))


	3. here i am (at the end of me)

After Emma quits, he doesn’t come back for a few days.

(He doesn’t come  _back_  for weeks.)

It’s understandable to Figgins, to everyone since he’d lost glee and Emma in one fell swoop.

(Another loss takes up residence in his chest.)

((He refuses to name it.))

After a week he walks back into William McKinley, passes the Nationals plaque that remains an only child, lacking a twin. He eats lunch with Beiste, he teaches the difference between masculine and feminine nouns and grades papers in his office.

(It takes him three days after he comes back to go back into his office.)

((Figgins raises an eyebrow but says nothing.))

The weeks pass by quickly between Emma’s transfer and the end of the year.

(They don’t pass quickly.)

((Most days he feels like he’s wading through molasses.))

(((It’s not the only lie he tells himself.)))

Finn and Quinn and Puck are in his Spanish class, but other than that he doesn’t see his glee club at all.

(He isn’t looking for them.)

((Actually, he’s keeping his blinders up.))

(((That unnamed loss is pulsing at the thought.)))

It’s nearing a full month after Regionals when he finally sees one of his glee club.

(Her name is Rachel.)

((The loss pulses again.))

(((He wonders if she can tell, assumes she can.)))

They are at opposite ends of the hall and his office is in the middle of the hallway between them. He finds this appropriate and forces himself not to look at the door.

(The pulse grows and his stomach aches.)

((He realizes he hasn’t eaten since Tuesday.))

(((He also realizes he doesn’t know what day it is.)))

He tries to smile but it is hollow. She must accept it anyway because she is smiling back and walking toward him and he thinks it would be best if there were more people in the hallway.

(But more than that he thinks there are too many.)

He feels himself shifting around, not moving toward her at all, giving her nothing.

(That unnamed  _thing_  is pounding, cracking his ribs.)

He worries she is going to bring it up but he also worries she is going to ignore it, so he isn’t sure what to make of her, “It was nice to run into you,” before she returns his hollow smile and scurries past.

The molasses has turned to rushing rapids and he is suddenly in his office, at his desk. Images of her cloud his mind and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

She didn’t seem angry or hurt or regretful and he can’t help but think that makes it worse.

(He worries it means she didn’t understand what happened between them.)

((He thinks it means she didn’t care about it at all.))

(((Both are possible but he isn’t sure which to pray for.)))

Later that night he lies on his couch and thinks.

(About Emma.)

((About Rachel.))

(((About failure.)))

There is a fire in his chest that a bottle of Pepto-Bismol doesn’t cure and he crawls into bed ready for another sleepless night.

(No one has noticed the bags under his eyes.)

((No one is left to notice.))

He spends the next few months teaching Spanish to students that don’t care, and he wonders how it never bothered him before. He’s getting more aggressive about not letting them talk during tests and when he grades their quizzes he stops accepting “no comprendo” as “making an effort.”

(He can’t help but draw comparisons between their answers and his and wish that God wasn’t cracking down, too.)

((The fall from a B to a D is a hard one.))

(((The fall from grace to a D is even worse.)))

He is sleepwalking through his lesson plans until Finn finally calls him on it. He’s quarterback again, dating Quinn and vying for prom king and queen.

(He remembers the short term memory of the high school masses.)

((He can’t help but envy Finn.))

(((It feels somehow familiar but he isn’t sure how.)))

Finn is chewing him out, now, like they are the closest of friends but also like Finn is the teacher and he is the student. That Finn’s words make sense is the worst part so when he tells him to mind his own damn business they are both stunned into a momentary silence.

(Eventually Finn responds.)

((His comeback is lame.))

(((It still hurts.)))

More weeks role by and Will is realizing that Emma is truly not coming back when they hire a new guidance counselor. She is young and pretty and dresses like an adult.

Will hates her.

(He misses bows and flowers and delicate wrists and trusting eyes.)

((He misses red hair.))

(((He misses brown hair, too.)))

Will sits with Beiste at lunch but their conversations have become dry. She’s making an effort but he isn’t and they both know it. Soon she stops, too.

The guidance counselor doesn’t try to sit with him.

(They haven’t even met, yet.)

((Will likes it that way.))

Will sees Rachel in the hallway but he doesn’t smile. She doesn’t either but he thinks she wants to. Nothing more has happened between them and it won’t.

(It can’t.)

((He can’t.))

(((He wants to.)))

The summer rolls around and he is grateful for the three months off even though it means a lot more down time. Last year he’d spent all of his free time watching musicals and choreographing.

(He hasn’t seen a musical since February.)

((It had ended in tears.))

(((So had the attempt at choreography.)))

He looks at the job ads every day but he isn’t sure why.

It’s when he’s trying to decipher an ad about a part time something or other when the phone rings.

(It startles him.)

((It hasn’t rung in weeks.))

(((An ignored voicemail apology from Finn.)))

With furrowed brows he answers. “ _Honey…your dad…_ ”

The phone is falling and his face is ashen as he realizes what his mom is saying from the floor.

His chest burns again but he is all out of antacids.

(They don’t help anyway.)

((It doesn’t mean he stops trying.))

The funeral is small and happens quickly. His uncle takes the lead on the planning and Will is grateful.

(Actually it’s just another thing that everyone thinks he can’t handle.)

((They may be right.))

He’s slipping his jacket off and dropping it to the couch in his living room. His tie is halfway off when the phone rings again.

(The noise startles him.)

((The caller id startles him more.))

He wants to ignore it but he can’t. It’s her.

“ _I heard about your dad._ ” He wonders how, but he figures it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t say anything so she continues. “ _I was wondering if you…”_ the rest is lost to him but in the end it’s just semantics because he knows what she’s asking.

“I’ll pick you up in ten.”

He refastens the tie and picks his jacket back up as he snaps the phone shut before she can answer.

(He knows what she’ll say.)

He’s in front of her house in eight minutes and she is already out the door. The lights are on and he wonders what the hell she told her dads.

She climbs in wordlessly and he thinks it’s strange that the last time they were in a car together he was telling her to back off, that he wasn’t right to chase after.

(He’d been wiser than he’d known.)

((She should have listened.))

(((None of them listened.)))

He drives wordlessly for minutes and he can feel her watching him. Her hands are in her lap but every once in a while she flexes them like she wants to touch him.

(It may be wishful thinking, but it isn’t.)

((He wants to touch her, too.))

So he pulls the car over onto a dirt road in the back of a warehouse and shuts the car off. His hands are covering his face as he pushes into the seat and leans back. The groan from his throat is loud and reverberates around the car.

( _Bad acoustics_ , he had told her.)

Her hand is on his shoulder a moment before he hears her shifting in the seat. Eyes open, he sees her pull up the parking brake before she is in his lap.

It’s awkward and a tight squeeze, even with her small body, but it feels good.

(Too good.)

She is kissing him like the last time and touching him like the first time.

(She must think he’s going to say no.)

(No.)

His demands are almost silent as he asks for more into her mouth. She obliges and he thinks this is what he’s been missing.

(The thought scares him.)

((It can’t be true.))

(((But the alternative is worse.)))

Her fingers are just like he remembered and he is sliding his hands under her short skirt.

(It’s print is floral.)

((Her blouse is tied with a bow.))

The desperation of their second time is present now, but she’s treating him like he’d treated her in the choir room.

They are going to have sex for the third time and if he didn’t need her so badly right now he would marvel at how fucked up this really is.

Instead he palms her ass in his hands and pushes her hips into his and doesn’t stop kissing her. The moans they are sharing are delicate (her) and desperate (him) and he pulls her panties down, strokes her smooth skin.

He needs to breath but the thought is secondary as his right hand slides between them and buries two fingers to the hilt. She gasps and he takes the chance to breathe but also to taste her neck. He knows his teeth are scraping her collarbone and it will leave a mark but he decides she’s into theatre and can figure out how to cover it.

(If she can’t, that’s fine, too.)

((He kind of hopes she can’t.))

(((Will that mean more reprimands from Finn?)))

He’s moving his fingers in her tight heat and his thumb is stroking her clit and in his ears is a steady chant of  _fuck fuck fuck_  but she’s not saying anything.

She’s about to come and he feels the hard press of his cock against the zipper of the dress pants. He wants to be inside her when she comes but the thought feels like giving in.

(He thinks it might be worth it.)

((What does he have to lose anymore?))

When he pulls back he looks at her face, her eyes shut tight as she draws blood from her lip with her teeth. The image is visceral and he thinks he might come just looking at her so he doubles his efforts between her legs but doesn’t attempt to slide inside her.

Instead he watches her start to unravel and then glances at the mark he’s already left on her flawless skin. Her flesh is red and slightly raised and he can’t believe he gave her a fucking hickey more than he can’t believe his fingers are knuckle-deep inside her pussy.

(That last bit causes him to swell more.)

((He wonders if it’s the graphic language.))

(((He thinks it’s because  _her_  is Rachel.)))

Her shoulders are taut and her hands are on his chest and he watches her as she finally peaks, the orgasm washing over her at the same time a realization washes over him.

(It feels like an epiphany.)

((He isn’t sure what it tells him.))

(((That unnamed loss has been silent until now.)))

He’s still hard but she’s languid above him now and he thinks staying like this for a moment more is fine as long as his hands are on her.

Even as he thinks that she shifts off of him back into her seat and he thinks this night is over, that he will have to go home hard and alone with the smell of her in his car.

But then she reaches for his belt and pulls his cock out, stroking it. He watches her as she kneels on the seat and leans over him and he doesn’t want to admit that he wants this more than a lot of things.

(More than glee club.)

((More than normalcy.))

(((More than Emma’s yes-no-maybe-so dance.)))

Her breath is hot as she leans forward, and the angle seems more awkward than when she was on his lap but his fingers tangle in her hair to let her know he appreciates it.

(He wonders if appreciation a reason to have sex.)

((With your student.))

(((In a car.)))

She closes her lips around him and the answer doesn’t matter because if he doesn’t concentrate this is going to be over far too soon.

Her movement isn’t fluid to begin with but he can’t determine if it’s a lack of practice or the stick shift digging into her abdomen. 

She finds a rhythm and the reason doesn’t matter but he thinks it might be both.

(Then again he’s only had a handful of blowjobs in his life and they were all from the same woman so what the hell does he know?)

Her tongue is stroking the underside of his cock and he can’t help but pull at her hair a little, greedy as he urges her just a little further.

His hips shoot off the seat when she takes him completely into her throat without hesitation and he feels bad but more than that he feels fucking amazing.

He can’t help but thrust just a little bit but he strokes her hair to apologize.

(He should be doing a lot more to apologize.)

((He has too much to apologize for.))

The tightness in his balls has started and he knows he’s a second from coming down Rachel’s throat so he tries to tell her, to warn her. She mumbles something and he hopes to God it’s permission because the vibration feels so fucking good and he lets himself go.

Spent in the driver’s seat of his broken down car he opens his eyes to find Rachel sliding back to her own seat and wiping delicately at the corners of her mouth. Her cheeks are flushed and her panties are still across her thighs from when he fingered her earlier.

(He thinks if he hadn’t just had the best blowjob of his life he’d be hard again at the image.)

((He’ll cash in on it later.))

(((How much more of his soul is there to lose anyway?)))

He doesn’t know what to say to her so he tucks himself back into his pants and starts the car. She must be taking her cues from him because she pulls up her panties and smoothes out her skirt.

(The thing without a name is sated but he knows it will burn later.)

((He’ll stop for antacids on the way home.))

(((They won’t help.)))

((((He’ll try anyway.))))

He stops at the end of the block suddenly and he hopes she doesn’t know her neighbors because he wraps a hand around her neck and pulls her lips to his. This type of kiss is new, not the cautious comfort of their first time or raw passion of the last time. When he kisses her now it is repayment and reverie and a sharp edge of want.

(He should feel bad for his greed but her lips are matching his.)

((She wants this, too.))

(((It shouldn’t soothe the ache in his chest.)))

He finally breaks away and looks her in the eyes. He leaves his hand on her cheek and it’s like the first time for a moment: raw comfort.

(He thinks that’s all it ever been.)

((He doesn’t just mean the sex.))

(((He thinks he’s starting to name the loss in his chest.)))

She rests her hand over his and leans into his touch. Her eyes are soft when she apologizes and he wonders what it’s for.

(His dad.)

((Emma.))

(((Calling him.)))

He nods even though he doesn’t really understand and she gets out of the car, walks quickly down the street and into the still-lit house.

(What will she tell her dads?)

He drives back to his house, stopping for a pink bottle on the way.

(He knows it won’t help.)

((He doesn’t stop trying.))

(((He can’t stop trying.)))

He drops the bottle on the counter and grabs a glass of water before chugging the antacid.

When he can’t sleep later that night, a fire in his chest, he is forced to think of names for the pressure in his lungs.

(Rejection.)

((Guilt.))

(((Rachel.)))


	4. the pain inside me (is my whole world)

He isn’t surprised when Figgins calls him into his office on a Wednesday morning in February of the kids’ senior year.

(Why he still thinks in terms of their ages he isn’t sure.)

((He has Artie and Tina and Mercedes now.))

(((They don’t look at him unless he calls on them.)))

((((He never calls on them.))))

Figgins is telling him that he’s fired, but he’s drawing it out with words like  _liability, unsafe, irresponsible_ and  _bad example_.

Sue is sitting in the corner of the room and he can’t help but laugh at all of it.

Figgins scowls and lets Sue guide him out of the office.

(He has until the end of the day to pack up his things.)

((He’s gone before second period.))

To be honest, Will is surprised it has taken him this long to get fired. But then again, word travels fast in a high school and pity is a big motivating factor.

When he was called into the office he didn’t even consider it had to do with Rachel until he caught her hair rounding a corner.

(He thinks he laughed out of relief that she didn’t turn him in.)

((He also thinks that the noise could have just as easily been a sob.))

He is nursing a bottle of scotch when there is a knock at his door.

(He knows it’s her.)

((He’s alienated everyone else.))

When he opens the door she doesn’t waltz right in like she had every other time she’s been in his apartment.

(It worries him.)

((So does the vulnerability in her eyes.))

“Is it because of me?”

Her voice sounds terrified and he shakes his head no. He’s thrown off by her worry but he figures it could just as easily be because of her reputation.

(The thought tastes ill-concocted.)

((She’s a lot of things but he can’t paint her as that.))

He runs through what to say in his mind:  _Look, Rachel, I appreciate your stopping by but I think you should leave. We—I’ve made a lot of mistakes and it’s time I start sorting them out and trying to put my life back together._

The speech sounds great and he thinks a year or two ago it would have been what he’d said verbatim. But he realizes that’s not the case when he finds the door shut and Rachel pressed between it and his body.

He is kissing her with everything he has left and it’s not much but she is taking it greedily. The thought that he’s wallowing in getting fired from his teaching job because of irresponsibility as he gets ready to fuck his student for a fourth time leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

(He realizes that maybe it’s the sour taste of the Glenlivet.)

((He hasn’t noticed it for months.))

(((He knows Rachel will.)))

He suddenly feels that guilt thing in his chest that has been silent for the past few months, and sticks his tongue further in her mouth to try to shut it up.

Rachel is opening beneath him and he’s grateful but he can also tell that she’s hesitant. He doesn’t have much morality left anymore, but he manages to pull back to look at her.

“Uh, I’m worried about you.” He thinks she isn’t sure what to call him still and lets it go. He shakes his head and walks into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator and leaning against it, his back to her. He reaches to the back to grab his last beer and waits as long as possible before he turns to face her.

She’s watching him as he searches for a bottle opener and he can tell she wants to ask if he thinks it’s a good idea to drink more.

(It isn’t.)

((They both know it.))

Instead she leans against his kitchen counter far too close to him. He takes a pull from the bottle and when he leans over to set it down he can smell her. He realizes it must be raining or misty or something because her hair is shiny with dew and before he can stop himself he is lifting her onto the counter and running his hands through her hair.

(He doesn’t kiss her again.)

((He’s afraid the more he kisses her the deeper he’ll fall.))

(((He’s about to hit the bottom.)))

Because he won’t kiss her he is standing between her legs, running his hands over her hair and looking her straight in the eye. She twitches and he realizes his eyes must be red since he hasn’t slept in months.

(He’s slept but he hasn’t dreamt.)

((It’s only in his dreams he finds redemption.))

(((There’s a fire in his chest that won’t let him be redeemed.)))

She leans forward to taste him and she must not have the same problem as him because her face is as fresh and sweet as ever.

(He tries not to acknowledge the hard edge to her eyes.)

((He wonders what she’s been up to over the last year.))

(((Wonders why she’s been keeping tabs on him.)))

He figures she must be a little upset he won’t kiss her because her voice has a tinge of malice. “You aren’t happy anymore and you won’t talk to anyone.”

He wants to argue with her but she’s absolutely right so instead her reaches down and presses his fingers against the front of her panties without any warning.

It doesn’t matter, she was ready for him, knew what this would be. He’s sliding his fingers under the edge of the cotton and she’s not breaking eye contact. Instead she bites her lip and he pulls away.

She groans but doesn’t move, just curls her fingers over the linoleum edge of the counter. Will hesitates a moment but then he decides to go for it and reaches to her back to unzip her skirt. The surprise that he was undressing her was evident to both of them, but she lifted her hips and he slid it off.

(They’ve had sex three times and he’s never  _seen_  her.)

((To be fair, he spent a lot of the time not having sex not seeing her, either.))

When he moves to unbutton her blouse she seems even more startled, but helps him shrug it off her shoulders and leave her in just her underwear. It’s light blue and white and lace and cotton and the contradiction of some of it leaves his head reeling.

(He thinks if he weren’t drunk this might make more sense.)

((He knows she’ll never quite make sense to him.))

Her eyes are searching his and as he reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, he says, “Will.” She looks down and he knows she won’t say it, won’t call him by his name today.

(Maybe next time.)

((There won’t be a next time.))

(((He can’t lie much longer.)))

His fingers are in the thin straps at her hips and he pulls her panties completely off, dropping them to the ground by his feet.

She is completely naked before him and he is completely clothed.

(It seems appropriate.)

((She always bares herself before he does.))

(((Maybe next time.)))

He unbuckles his pants as she watches and he leans forward to cup her breasts. They’re small but full and he takes her nipple into his mouth with hard teeth. Her hands are in his hair and he is giving her breasts the treatment he refused her mouth.

His lips are trailing down her stomach now, and he feels her hips jut forward as he reaches her core. Finally, his tongue is tasting her and his lips are closing around the bundle of nerves hidden in her folds.

He isn’t satisfied and he spreads her with his thumbs, his tongue dipping deeper in her pussy to the source.

(He’s thinks he might be harder than the last time but the pressure in his chest is sharp and he thinks everything might feel harder now.)

She comes quickly with her fingers digging into his skull and he returns to her breast to stop himself from sharing her taste.

Her eyes are wide and open and it makes it better and worse all at the same time so he just drops his boxers on top of his jeans and slides into her. Her mouth makes an “o” that he thinks might become a “w,” but it dies in her throat.

Instead she’s begging God, asking for more and he realizes she’s never really said anything before.

(He realizes that might be because they’ve only had sex in school or public.)

((He can’t believe he wasn’t fired before this.))

He’s nearing his peak when the realization that this will happen again makes its way to the forefront of his brain. She’s pressing her breasts against his chest and he thinks she’d feel amazing if he’d opened his shirt.

(It’s why he left it closed.)

((He knows she’d be amazing if he were open.))

(((He’s known for a while.)))

With that thought he’s coming and she’s coming and it’s becoming something new between them. They’ve done this together but each time feels different.

(Each time is worse.)

((But each time is better, too.))

He rests his head against her breast and breathes against her sternum and she runs her fingers through his hair. It’s the most comfort he’s felt in a long time and so he pulls away quickly. She doesn’t look hurt and he is so grateful he thinks he might cry.

Instead he reaches for her bra and slips it over her arms. He begins to redress her slowly, and he can sense her watching him. After he slips her panties and skirt back on her he starts to button her blouse. He feels her hand close around his chin gently and he looks up to find her eyes dark but soft.

She’s looking at his lips and pulling him closer to her and he told himself no but her lips are already against his. Her lips stay closed and the kiss is nothing and everything.

Finally her mouth parts and his follows and they are breathing each other in and getting high from lack of oxygen. The kiss is pure and soothing and it’s what he gave her their first time but one hundred times better.

(She’s always following him.)

((She’s also always doing it better.))

(((He thinks that’s the way it’s supposed to be.)))

This kiss is sweetness and innocence and nothing they’ve been. This kiss is romance.

His head has been under pressure for what feels like a year and when he kisses her back it suddenly starts to abate. He’s desperate for the clarity he can taste just beyond this and the slow kiss becomes desperate as he searches.

He pulls back before they start round two and he pulls up his pants, buckling them. He steps back and puts his hands on her waist to help her down. She straightens her skirt and hair and there’s a frizziness to her hair that wasn’t there twenty minutes ago.

(He thinks it’s adorable.)

((The fire is being stoked in his chest and he inwardly groans.))

He walks her to the door and she lingers and he thinks she’s waiting for him to be back to normal.

(He doesn’t have the heart to tell her not to wait.)

((He wishes he had an ETA for her.))

(((He wishes he had and ETA for himself, too.)))

She shrugs and walks through the door and he says, “I want to be happy again,” before closing the door on her.

(He knows he’ll open it again for her.)

((No lock he owns is Rachel proof.))

(((He’s starting to realize that she will be his final catalyst.)))

((((He has a feeling it might not be to the eternal damnation he’d originally thought.))))


	5. someday i'll hope again (though it won't be today)

There’s no rhythm to when they get together. He figures they only seek each other in comfort and life doesn’t send troubles in a calculated pattern.

So when she shows up at his apartment he is not expecting her.

(He’s never expecting her.)

((He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.))

(((Really, he’s always expecting her.)))

She’s wearing jeans and it is the most startling thing about her presence. Her hair is up in a ponytail and she is wearing a sweatshirt and it’s the marker of the end, her like this.

(He thinks it might also be the beginning.)

He tries to ask her why and what and how but she is shaking her head and dragging him to his couch. He sees his newspapers stretched out on the coffee table, the want ads bright and highlighted in red and he tries to shove them away.

(He hasn’t had to care about anyone’s opinions of the jobs he was considering.)

((He’s thought about her opinions the entire process.))

(((He’s too afraid to find out if he knows her as well as he thinks he does.)))

She’s not gentle when she pushes him to the couch and straddles him but he doesn’t really mind. He drops his head to the back of the couch when she starts rolling her hips, the thick denim a new sensation between them.

(He isn’t sure if it’s the new sensation that turns him on or the sight of her in such a different light.)

((The friction is good.))

(((She is better.)))

She’s unbuttoning his shirt and he’s thinking that it’s the first time he’s going to be naked in front of her. It’s strange and new and he wonders why she needs him so desperately.

He wants to ask but remembers that she’s been keeping up on his life, knows when bad things happen but he hasn’t been doing the same.

(It was his way of respecting her.)

((He tried to keep boundaries for her.))

(((He tried to do a lot of things for her but it never really translated.)))

Her mouth is on his neck and he realizes it’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about it but that she wants him to know about her, care about her, so he hazards a guess.

He asks if it’s Finn and she stops, pulls back, and says, “He’s at prom tonight.” And she’s giving him the answers.

(It’s not the first time, he realizes.)

((She’s quite the teacher.))

(((He’s not.)))

Tonight is prom and she is not there and he thinks that maybe she’s been as lonely as he has since glee. He tries to remember if she had friends before glee, but he realizes the only thing he remembers from her freshman year is that she got perfect grades in Spanish.

(He’s suddenly very sad.)

((The pressure in his chest is gone.))

(((He’s confused but not disappointed.)))

He tries to apologize like she had but he doesn’t know what for, even though he’s on the other side now, so he just brushes her hair back.

It’s gentle and she seems surprised. It makes him feel like an ass so he presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

She smiles a little and slows but doesn’t stop undressing him. When his pants are unbuttoned she makes him stand to drop them, leaving him naked. The sensation is unexpectedly unpleasant and that fire is back suddenly when he realizes he had her like this in his kitchen three months ago.

(He’d thought about that night a lot.)

((He wouldn’t change a thing.))

She takes him into her mouth as he’s thinking about this, takes him all the way to the back of her throat before she swallows repeatedly, desperately.

He’s choking and gasping and making other desperate, unpleasant noises as his entire body is engulfed by flames. The pressure of her throat around his cock is unbelievable and he starts to chant her name mixed in with prayers and pleas and moans.

He can feel her smile against him even though he can’t open his eyes but suddenly she is gone, pushing him again to the couch.

(His body is like gelatin, so he does what she wants.)

((He thinks he would anyway.))

(((He realizes he usually does.)))

She stands in front of him in her jeans and starts to take them off.

(He’d thought those skirts were torture, all bare legs and open thighs.)

((This is worse, now she’s all close lines and stretched denim and he thinks that the skirts left more to the imagination.))

(((He realizes he’s touched her five times now and there wasn’t much to be left to the imagination anyway.)))

She leaves her sweatshirt on and her hair up and sinks down onto his cock without another pause. They’re moving desperately and he thinks this is the most frantic they’ve ever been, so he’s surprised it’s her in charge.

(Actually that makes the most sense.)

((She’s always been in charge, hasn’t she?))

Her moans are loud and reckless and he’s grateful she never made these noises when they were in public but also kind of disappointed. His fingers must be leaving prints on her hips but it just spurs her on and she braces her fists against his chest and slams them down a couple times.

It hurts but it also feels like a punishment and he figures it’s part of being with her the way he is.

(She hasn’t complained.)

((She never does about the important things.))

(((He realizes that they’re a lot like each other.)))

((((And maybe she needs this as much as he does.))))

He can feel her walls flutter around him and he knows she’s close so his fingers dance over her clit. Her eyes open and her moans stop but she doesn’t stop moving. She’s looking at him, searching his eyes and he would offer her what she wants if he just knew what it was.

“I’m tired of being alone.”

It’s painful for her to say, he knows, so he thrusts harder, higher, and says, “Me too.”

It’s the most he’s ever offered her and she lets out a sob when she finally comes, and he cries out her name against the warm fabric of her sweatshirt.

She’s tense against him after he stops moving inside her so he runs a soft hand over her hair, playing gently with the ponytail. She offers him a smile, a real one.

(He’d almost forgotten what it looked like on her.)

((It looked damn good.))

(((God, he’s missed her.)))

He pulls her forward, into a hug, and her tense shoulders flame the guilt just a little. When he strokes a hand down her back she sinks into him, and he wraps his arms around her.

(She is so delicate.)

((He’s never noticed it before.))

(((The guilt sparks.)))

Her head is in the crook of his neck and she places a few kisses there before leaning back to look at him. Her eyes are soft and gentle and he thinks his are, too. Her eyes fall to his lips and suddenly his breath catches in anticipation.

(He’s been inside her again and again and again but this is different.)

((Her admission changed everything.))

(((He’s kind of glad it did.)))

Their last kiss in his kitchen had been sweet and romantic but this was more than that, even. This was languid and rolling and smooth. This tasted like French language and Cole Porter lyrics, all silky and melodic and perfect. This is a promise.

(He doesn’t know of what.)

((He hopes it’s a promise of more.))

Rachel pulls back and he tugs at the band holding her hair. It falls down, loose and a little curled from its confined nature and he runs his fingers through it slowly.

“I’ve missed you. I’ve missed…glee.” It’s an effort for her to say it and he understands why. It still riles to hear and it has been over a year.

He swallows and closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. “Me too,” it seems to be all he can say but it has to be enough.

She must accept it because she gives him a few soft kisses, shadows of earlier. He runs his hands down her back and rests them on her hips, before lifting her off of him. They dress in silence, the spell from earlier broken by the rustle of fabric.

She walks to the door and it is like the last time at the same time that it is different.

(Each time is like the last time.)

((Each time is different.))

(((This time feels like something new completely.)))

He cups her cheek and she smiles again and he thinks he misses this the most.

She gestures to the coffee table with her head and wrinkles her nose when she tells him not to be a telemarketer.

She closes the door behind her when she leaves and his lips twitch in amusement.

(She had better eyesight than he’d thought.)

((But he’d been right about her opinions.))

(((Her jibe meant nothing but encouragement to him.)))

He sits back down at the couch and flips through the papers again before scraping it and going online. He realizes that it may be time to get out of Lima.

He’s been a Lima loser for a long time, despite the marriage and steady job.

(His wife had been crazy.)

((He’d been in love with another woman.))

(((He’d lost his job.)))

He realizes the only time he didn’t feel like a Lima loser was when he was working on glee.

(When he was singing.)

((When he was singing with her.))

(((When he was with her.)))


	6. you will bring beauty (from pain)

Rachel is ready to be done with high school.

She is ready to be done with sitting alone and not having friends and not seeing him.

She isn’t sure yet how graduation will remedy the latter but if she is certain of one thing it’s that.

She’s been sleepwalking through her senior year and focusing on school work and she will be going to New York in just two months. Her dads cry when she comes out of her bedroom in her graduation cap and gown and she smiles to please them as they take picture after picture.

(She is starting to understand others’ aversion to film.)

((She isn’t sure she wants to remember this day.))

(((She isn’t sure she could forget it, either.)))

She is Valedictorian and the yellow stripe across her shoulders feels like nothing but exclusion and loneliness and memories she’d rather forget.

Her speech is contrived and she knows it but her dads still tear in the audience and the faculty still looks at her as though her words are byproducts of their pedagogy.

(They’re not.)

((She’s learned the most from the one teacher not here today.))

(((She’s learned the most from pain and error and shared mistakes.)))

There’s applause and a fake smile and a diploma in her hand and then there’s mingling and she just wants to go home. Her dads are laughing with Figgins and she leans against the bleachers, just wanting to be out of this town.

(The label on her suitcases is Julliard.)

((It doesn’t quite feel like her end destination yet.))

(((She knows of the missing ingredient but isn’t sure how to get it.)))

A hand on her shoulder is startling and when she turns her satin stole falls to the ground.

It’s him.

(She’s shocked.)

((But she’s not, not really.))

(((She needs him and he’s usually there when it really matters.)))

He’s speaking in hushed tones and she thinks it doesn’t make sense because she is eighteen and he isn’t her teacher but she also kind of understands.

(They are meant to meet in private.)

((This is breaking all the rules.))

(((Her heart races.)))

She tells her dads she’s going to a party and they are thrilled she’s socializing again so they let her go.

She gets into his car and they drive away. She isn’t sure where but she’s always trusted him, even when he hasn’t been quite deserving.

(She knew he’d figure it out after a while.)

((It was worth the wait.))

He’s smiling lightly as she tells him about her plans at Julliard and it’s the most they’ve said to each other since glee. It feels the same but different and somehow better.

(It feels like growth.)

They end up at his apartment and she feels butterflies in her stomach as if she’s never been alone with him, never been in his apartment.

(She hasn’t really.)

((Not like this.))

(((Not in a solo invitation.)))

His smile hasn’t really left, small as it is, and she thinks it might be the best thing she’s seen all year.

(She has a tendency to follow in his steps.)

((She also has a tendency to do it better than him.))

(((His happiness means her happiness and she wonders how great it can be if they do it together.)))

She smiles back at him, all teeth and big lips and he leans forward like he’s going to kiss her, but instead he reaches his arms around her and slips the stole from her shoulders. He unzips her robe and drapes it over the back of the couch.

His eyes run over her short black summer dress and there’s a mischievousness in his eyes she’s never been the recipient of.

(A thrill runs up her spine.)

He leads her over to the couch and sits her down, his hand slowly letting go of hers as he walks into the kitchen. He seems hesitant but confident and just a little nervous.

(She thinks he’s adorable.)

He asks if she wants something to drink and he comes back with the bottle of water she requested. She worries at the bottle in his until he winks and reveals it to be a bottle of old fashioned root beer.

Her resulting laugh is full of relief and the butterflies shift to her upper chest making it hard to breathe. He hesitates before he sits next to her on the couch and finally sits next to her when she offers a shy smile.

He’s close to her now, inches away and she knows they’ve been much closer but never this cautious of touching so she figures it’s her job to make this first move. She sets her hand on his and tells him it was a nice surprise to see him at graduation.

(She wants to thank him but it implies too much.)

((That he was there just for her.))

(((That she was happy he was there just for her.)))

He ducks his head and takes a drink of the root beer and she notices that he looks a little sad. He mumbles, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Rachel.”

She realizes he’s about to apologize for something so she offers, “Me, too,” and the recitation of what’s become his catch phrase gives him pause.

She sets her water down and his root beer down and they shift on the couch. She wants to explain that they both had a hard year, that they needed each other and that she was so grateful he was there to help and that he let her help him.

She doesn’t say any of it but takes his hands in hers and leans forward. Her breath catches as he leans forward, but he doesn’t kiss her.

Instead he pulls her to them and it is awkward, they are side by side like they’d been in the choir room but instead of darkness and backless benches and desperation they are surrounded by daylight and soft cushions and possibilities.

He tugs her closer and she slides into his lap, her legs resting against the couch seat as he wraps his arms around her waist under her breasts. He slides over until he is in the corner of the couch and she rests her head against her chest.

(She thinks that this is nice.)

((This is perfect.))

(((This is comfort.)))

The butterflies abate as they both just sit there, her head on his chest, his arms around her and his lips pressing against her hair. He shifts beneath her before he clears his throat and she turns to look at him. His eyes are red but he isn’t crying.

(She can tell he might.)

((She might, too, depending on where this goes.))

She braces herself for the rejection she expected more than a year ago.

“This last year has been really hard on me. I haven’t been…myself, and I haven’t treated…other people the way they’ve deserved.”

She knows he’s talking about her but he’s also talking about Finn and the rest of glee and Coach Beiste. Her eyes are getting teary but she holds her breath and lets him finish.

“I, uh, didn’t deal with things in the best way and I was…I think I was depressed.” She feels guilt for this immediately because she lost them Regionals and glee and she put her problems on top of his, even as she tried to return the favor.

“I needed a change. And,” he clears his throat and he still isn’t crying but he’s getting closer. He pulls her closer to him and she takes that as a good sign. “I, uh, I needed you, and you helped me come back.” He’s stumbling through a few more words but she gets the gist, so she stops him with short sweet kisses to his lips.

(He wasn’t pushing her away.)

((In fact, he was telling her that he cared about her in his own way.))

She turns into him and murmurs that he helped her, too, and he takes her face in his hands. He’s kissing her in a cycle of them and it’s comfort and reunion and reverie and romance and promise and love.

(It’s commitment.)

((It’s a future.))

(((It’s them.)))

He doesn’t break from her lips but locks his arm under her knees and pulls her up with him. He’s moving with her effortlessly and he’s bringing her into his bedroom.

She thinks it’s strange they haven’t done this in a bed yet but it also makes so much sense and she feels her knees tremble at the repercussions.

When he lays her down on the bed it’s gentle and sweet but there’s an edge of sharp want that shades their contact.

(It’s always been there.)

((It’s been a slow climb to acceptance.))

She smiles up at him and he brushes her hair from her forehead before his hand trails down her side to her bare legs and simple black heels. He pulls them from her feet and drops them to the ground as she tugs at his dress shirt. She is unbuttoning it and he is watching her, stroking her side, her arms, her hair.

She feels a little embarrassed and on display.

(More than that she feels appreciated.)

((She feels safe.))

(((She feels loved.)))

His shirt is open and he helps her pull it off and his t-shirt follows to her shoes on the floor. They’re not rushing but they’re not taking their time either, and the pants follow as does her dress. Her panties and bra are the last and she feels more open and vulnerable than ever so she starts to shift under his gaze.

They are both naked, physically and emotionally and she thinks this might be the type of emotion that she could write a song about.

(Funny, the thought of writing doesn’t hurt anymore.)

((Something is building, shifting.))

(((She thinks it might be for him, too.)))

He is moving over her, pressing her into the bed and she realizes this is the first time she’s felt his full weight on her.

(She realizes the weight of him isn’t too much.)

((It actually feels more like an answer to a question she’d never been able to fully form.))

He strokes her hip and she shifts her legs to open for him and they smile at the simplicity of their actions. He watches her face and slides into her as her thighs lock around his hips. Her head tips back and his name is a sigh on her lips.

He freezes and she wonders if she said something wrong, but instead he kisses her again, with all the passion and promise and everything. These kisses are too heady, she feels drunk with it, and just when she thinks it’s too much he moves to her neck and starts to move.

He is pacing himself, moving slowly but deeply and she’s shifting to pull him deeper and the pressure is building.

(The pressure is new, too, as if the last five times have come back to spur her forward.)

((She thinks that when the pressure breaks, she might go with it.))

(((The thought doesn’t bother her like it should.)))

He keeps kissing her neck her chest her arms and she keeps rolling her hips, drawing him back again and again until that pressure is reaching the end.

He’s close, too, and his eyes fly open to watch her a moment before he captures her mouth once more and they both tumble over the edge, all the way to the bottom.

Their breathing is rapid and in sync and she thinks it might be the most soothing noise she’s heard in a long time.

(She thinks it’s safe to bet the same is true for him.)

When she wakes up he is under the covers and she slides out of bed silently, slipping on his shirt. She uses the bathroom and then goes into the living room. It’s not quite seven and the sun isn’t completely gone as she runs her hand over her graduation robe. She catches a computer glow in the corner of her eye and notices a map.

She feels bad for snooping but the map looks like New York so she glances at his bedroom before taking a seat in the chair and reading the map.

A route is highlighted from Lyndhurst to Union City and Will’s voice is startling behind her. “I found a new job.” He looks almost terrified at her answer to his non-question and he rushes on to say they can talk about it and that he doesn’t want to go too fast but the only word she hears is possibility.

(A possibility for a new start.)

((A possibility for them.))

She doesn’t want to rush in to this either, but she can’t bear to walk away when she knows that there might be more here.

Juilliard is close to his future home and even closer to his future school and she thinks this might just be perfect.

She stands and kisses him, and he smiles against her lips.

(She thinks this might be karma for helping him.)

((She thinks he might be her karma for saving him.))

(((She hopes she is his karma for saving her.)))

They agree that this isn’t a future but a chance at something more, and they both deserve to see where this might go.

(She thinks that decision is beyond their control.)

((She likes the thought.))

His lips find hers and she stands on her toes as his arms wrap around her. His fingers are in her hair and on her back and their kiss is comfort and reunion and reverie and romance and promise and love.

Their kiss is a possibility of something more.


End file.
